The Misplaced Ones
by Evil Cat Hater
Summary: The winner of the Furry Subculture Challenge! Professor Hermione Granger goes into the Forbidden Forest for a plant but comes out with a different personality. What has happened to her and why is she suddenly feeling odd around the misplaced Remus Lupin?
1. Part 1: The Dedicated

Hello all!

This is my part in the challenge posted by the lovely **Lady Acacia**.

Rules and ecetera can be found at: http/ shamefully admit that I was in such a rush that I didn't really put Ron and Harry into the story, nor did I give that great of clues about Hermione's soon-to-be secret. I tried as hard as I possibly could to make this very Hermione-like. (It's my own little term - sort of.)This means that I tried to write as sophisticated and detailed as possible. As easy as it seems, it's not. As for good quotes that stick with a reader, well, that I forgot about, too. I'm so bad.

As always, this was betaed by the wonderful **R. J. Lupin's Kat**.

And, I dearly thank **Lady Acacia **for all of her help. Without it, I would be running around like a raving lunatic trying to get this done.

This is in four parts, just to let you all know.

Enjoy! (And good luck to the other writers who wrote for the challenge, too!)

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**Disclaimer - **I do not own Harry Potter and Co. I do not own the original idea. I only own the itty bitty plot I developed from it.

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A lone, dark silhouette of a small, petite figure slid quickly across the dew soaked grass, heading towards the ominous, forbidding Forbidden Forest.

Hermione Jane Granger looked up towards the ink black sky, only to see the circular bright orb hang threateningly right above her. She felt a sudden dread pass through her veins. A shiver passed through her.

_It's weird how in the morning the sun is the light, a symbol of love and the reason to fight for the greater good, _Hermione thought to herself as she tugged the cloak tighter around her to block out the night's biting cold. _Yet the moon, full only so many times, is the light for the dark. However, it is a curse to follow the light it draws out._

But the feeling of uneasiness left her as she remembered that she was on a mission for the greater good. Well, at least it was a greater good mission for Madame Pomfrey – a chance to demonstrate a valuable lesson on her dunderhead apprentice. And since Hermione was the only Potions Major in the castle, she was forced to go and gather all the necessary ingredients and herbs for any sort of potion making, no matter _who_ was making the potion. Lucky her.

She advanced step by step, ignoring the darkened surroundings that haunted her, a sinister illusion one does not wish to face but must. Her head jerked every now and then at the snap of a twig or the hoot of an owl. Silhouettes of nocturnal wildlife foraging heightened her nerves. Hermione chastised herself; she needed to focus completely at the task at hand. It wouldn't do to worry and panic about everything that was bound to occur in nature.

The tree trunks looked surreal and flat, tricking her eyes. They appeared more like a painting than reality. The branches eerily snaked out and opened their wide fingers for any passerby daring to stray too close. Perhaps they intended to grab and shake some sense into them. Or perhaps something more sinister. The dark negative space around the trees grew darker than the night sky; little, beady eyes watched her every move.

Hermione slid the silver knife out of the sheath at her waist, displaying it in warning to the other, more feral creatures that she, too, was dangerous. The reflected light off its tip was enough to scare most of them away.

She ignored her body's need to shiver in fear, but her body refused let her. A smirk crossed her lips; not only was she stubborn, but her body was, too.

She pushed away the branches and pressed on towards her goal. Every now and then a branch defied her, scratching and cutting her milky skin and catching cloak. But she retaliated in the name of justice with a flick of her knife.

Her feet, petite and fragile, tiptoed to avert loud security sensors strategically placed along the forest floor – brittle, rotting twigs and branches, starved of light and life. Her hands, covered in dark red dragon-hide gloves, pushed purposely away at the living, protruding branches about her.

Her only other consolation aside from her knife was the sterling silver necklace Headmistress McGonagall had given her. It was said to ward off dangerous creatures and uneasy spirits. It was only at the last minute that Hermione had remembered it and donned it on her way out of her room. After all, she _was _going into the Forbidding Forest. She dreaded the thought of dying in the forest simply because she was too stupid to use the protection she had at hand. She'd be put on a on a Chocolate Frog card, her anti-heroic story on the back, with children laughing at her lack of intelligence at the one moment she needed it most. How humiliating.

Returning her focus to the task at hand, she knew she needed to go deeper into the forest for the purple loosestrife. Hagrid personally farmed the plant that required a damp, dark and humid environment. Enter the Forbidden Forest – loosestrife central. Primarily found in North America, those witches and wizards who grew it in Britain took advantage of its rarity and value and sold it for unreasonably high prices.

Believing Americans to be bloody stupid morons, Professor Severus Snape had long ago suggested to Dumbledore to have Hagrid grow and guard it. And so it had been for the last decade.

But since Hagrid was spending his honeymoon in who-knew-where with his "Olympe", Hermione had to extract the plant herself. Lovely.

This wasn't some gentle flower primed for pruning, Hermione had to remind herself. It had spikes that were poisonous to any magical being, and that included magical _human_ beings. So, it had to be extracted at night when it was at its weakest. Some Potions masters and mistresses argued that it didn't matter what time of day it was: any plant was always powerful in its own way. But Hermione's research proved that plants, relying on sunlight to start the photosynthesis process and gain energy, were weakest at night. They also succumbed monthly to the powerful phases of the moon.

Hermione continued, pushing through the misty fog that hung like a foul odor, and looked around. The spacious trees all looked exactly the same; the thickness of trunks and space between all appeared the same in her eyes.

The grip on her knife started to loosen as she felt sweat trickle from the top of her brow into her eyes. The cool, flowing wind passed by her teasingly as if whispering to her to follow it and ignore what she needed to do.

She soon became anxious, desperately scanning her eyes around for the wet patch of fenced-in land. It had to be around here _somewhere!_

Finally her gaze landed on a rough-hewn section of ground. As she rushed towards it, her feelings of panic increased. The forest made her uneasy, and the longer she remained within its confines, the stronger the sense of someone watching her, daring her to chicken out and run away screaming like the little girl she still was on the inside.

With extreme caution, she carefully climbed over the fence. She sank a few inches as her feet met the sogginess of the damp soil. Patiently, she eased her way through the plantings until she reached the flowers in the middle, where the canopy of the trees were kind enough to open up in the morning to let in some sunlight.

She grabbed the stem of one of the reddish-purple plants, careful to avoid the spikes protruding from it, and swiftly cut the flower from its source of life. She pocketed it carefully in her cloak and turned to leave. Her heart lodged in her throat at the sight before her.

There, outside of the fenced-in area was a large, snarling gray wolf.

Suddenly her heart began to beat furiously and painfully in her chest. She felt the knife start to slip from her grip and the thorns of the plants penetrate her clothing and skin, seeping their poison into her, beginning numb her entire leg.

The wolf began to slowly creep towards her. She forced herself to remember that it wasn't a werewolf, so it was less likely to hurt if it bit her. They also weren't very patient with prey they had to work for. All she had to do was run, dodge, and hide. Simple. By very early morning, it was more than likely to give up on her.

If she was able to avoid it.

She knew that if the wolf entered the grounds, it would be instantly stuck and would no doubt ruin the plants in its attempts to escape. She couldn't allow that. She needed those plants and would be totally devastated if they were ruined; she wouldn't be able to replace them.

Making sure to maintain eye contact since creatures like this were all about the alpha-beta system, she climbed back over the fence and stood stark still. If she avoided its black eyes, she would instantly become its prey, its weaker opponent. And, she remembered reading, in rare cases witches had been "raped" by wolves. It was the essence that all females were considered the beta – the reason why the male always had his way during mating. She definitely did _not _want to be put in that position. She needed to show that she was brave; she _was _a Gryffindor after all!

Before she could make her next move toward escape, the plant in her pocket burst out additional liquid acid from its spikes. She groaned and clutched her thigh in pain.

The wolf, seizing its chance, pounced, its long canines aiming for her jugular.

Hermione jumped and backed away, stumbling. She slashed her silver knife in front of her just as the animal closed in. She felt the blade jerk as it sliced and penetrated the tough hide.

She seized her opportunity and started around the wolf with her heart pounding painfully in her chest. Her legs and arms made a rhythmic pattern and propelled her to drive on, her motivation to get out of the forest without playing cat-and-mouse with the wolf.

A loud, pain-induced howl echoed throughout the forest, causing her to shiver as she ran as fast as her slender legs could take her. Unfortunately the acidic pain and numbness in her leg soon rendered the limb useless and she collapsed with a heavy thud and groan.

She repeatedly tried to move her leg, but it would not obey her commands or pleas. Hearing the wolf approach, she began to crawl desperately towards the trunk and roots of a nearby large tree. Her fingers dug into the freezing, rock-hard ground and pulled her body nearer refuge. The silver knife stabbed repeatedly into the forbidding soil, acting as a leverage point from which to drag herself along. Her one working and cooperating leg pushed its moccasin shoe into the dirt in an effort to expedite the journey.

After what seemed an eternity, she reached the tree and began to tuck herself into a ball to hide in the shadows. Just as she settled, the wolf approached and stopped in its tracks. Adjusting her knife into an attack and defend position, Hermione prepared herself for what was to come.

The wolf held its nose to the sky and began to sniff the air. Satisfied, he moved it to the ruffled dirt and began to follow the tell-tale trail to her hiding place. It was fight or flight time, and Hermione doubted she'd be able to flee successfully.

Just as the wolf was coming upon her, its slinking body low and prowling around the tree trunk, a deep growl emitted from the darkness nearby. Suddenly a blur of fur and teeth emerged and tackled the wolf.

Hermione's heart stopped momentarily and her brain froze as she watched the two wolves struggle with one another. Then the unthinkable realization hit: the new attacker was a werewolf.

Her new focus of terror rammed the wolf into just one on outskirts of her vision. Continuously it rhythmically clawed its larger and more deadly nails into the other wolf's dark gray fur. The latter soon lost consciousness if not more. The werewolf then turned around to her, its light brown fur sticking up in warning, bright crimson blood staining its tresses.

The beast turned to fully face her. It was huge. The long, protruding claws also displayed the violently-tinged markings of the previous challenge. With nerve-wracking ease and grace, it made its way toward the painfully vulnerable young woman.

Asking for strength under her breath, Hermione tensed herself into a defensive position, ready to defend her life yet again. But before she could skewer up legendary Gryffindor courage, the gray wolf awoke from its slumber and renewed its attack on the larger, brown beast with as much fury and animal instinct as it could muster.

She knew this time the fight was going to go on longer and, most likely, more aggressively. It was time to escape.

She turned to crawl away. Before she had made a few feet, she found herself tangled in the fury of the fight and adrenaline. Out of instinct, she lashed out with her knife, unsure of which beast she injured. It didn't matter, though. She felt long and sharp teeth embed themselves in her thigh, right where the flower was.

All she remembered before slipping into darkness was her scream of pain and anguish lost within the snarls and howls, all filling and echoing in the darkened forest.

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Well? What do you all think? 

Mine's a bit different from the other stories that entered for this contest, but you know, there has to be that yellow tulip among the group of red roses.

Review please:) I would be most greatful!


	2. Part 2: The Odd

Here I am again!

As for the reviews I couldn't respond to before: you'll get a response at the end of this, don't worry.

And thanks to all that deserve it. :)

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**Disclaimer **- I do not own Harry Potter and Co.

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"I have no idea what this wound is," a rough female voice said, interrupting Hermione's slumber. "The purple loosestrife's poison's covered up all traces of saliva, blood… the swelling the injury itself. We have no idea what she was bitten by. It could've been a wolf, werewolf, vampire, bloody hell –it could even have been a hippogriff or a mermaid!"

"No matter, she's fine now," another, much higher, female voice responded in distaste. "She's healthy; she'll get better once she takes all her potions. Let's finish patching her off, give her crutches, and see to it that she's back to grading papers."

Hermione felt her eyes snap open at the joking quip and immediately regretted it. Pain shot up from her leg and she lurched up to clutch her thigh. A scream escaped her gritted teeth. Sharp, burning knives ruthlessly stabbed her thigh.

"Hermione, dear! Take this - you'll fell better!" Madam Pomfrey shouted over her screams. But she ignored her completely and continued to rock back in forth in pain.

Impatient, the immature assistant forcefully shoved the potion into her mouth. Before Hermione could spit it out, someone grabbed her nose, thus forcing her to swallow amidst chokes and gags. The potion was disgusting.

It had one benefit, however; it worked. The pain was instantly numbed away. She sighed, relieved. She didn't know how much more pain and drama she could take.

"Here's your breakfast, dear," Madam Pomfrey said politely as she trapped Hermione with a tray of questionable-looking fare. What happened to Hogwarts' excellent meals? The question must have shown clearly in the disgusted look on her pale face, as the nurse added somewhat jokingly, "The House Elves are on strike."

"About bloody time," Hermione said proudly. Inside, however, she grimaced. Part of her wished they'd picked a better time as she glanced back down at her lack of nutrition-served-right.

"Well, since nobody's been leaving a mess for them, they won't clean or cook anything," the assistant remarked. Hermione scowled. The House Elves were _not_ supposed to retaliate because there was no work! They were _supposed _to retaliate for _wages_ for services rendered!

"But we're managing in the mean time," Madam Pomfrey reassured with a kind smile. "You're going to have to deal with the wooden utensils for now; the House Elves won't give up the silver ones. And eat everything up; that potion you just took needs to be on a full stomach, or you'll be violently ill. I dare say you do not want a hole in your stomach that will let everyone '_see right through you_'…"

The two nurses chuckled to themselves over the quip, exchanging even more lame jokes as they wandered off, leaving Hermione to her own devices. She rolled her brown eyes and began to eat the less–than–appealing meal laid out for her. As much as she advocated House Elf liberation, she had to admit they were acting a bit out of character. A simple request for wages should have been their first move, and knowing McGonagall, they would have received them.

The day finally arrived when the nurse promised Hermione she would be set free from her motherly protection. Her wound was as healed as much as it could be. Interestingly enough the initial wound itself would not heal, perplexing Madam Pomfrey.

But the medi-witch insisted that Hermione be set back a day due to a new flu vaccine Madam Pomfrey had to give her. It seemed a virus was making its rounds about the castle. Just what she needed on top of everything else.

"Here, dearie," the nurse said as she handed Hermione the green vial. "Please drink this. _Tomorrow, _I promise, I'll let you go."

"But I want to go _today_," Hermione protested, shoving the vial away from her mouth. "You _promised_." She knew she was being childish, but really, she _wanted out_.

"We can't _always _keep our promises," Madam Pomfrey replied testily. She renewed her efforts to administer the vial's contents.

Instant rage erupted within Hermione. She jerked the vial out of the healer's hand and roughly threw it to the ground. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces; the neon green liquid splashed everywhere.

"Professor Granger!" the nurse cried out, affronted.

"_I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing! I want to leave! I want to leave! I want to leave!_" Hermione chanted over and over, beating her fists and kicking off the sheets. "_I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing! I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!_"

"Professor _Granger!_" Poppy shouted over the immature chants, waving her wand to clean the potion and repair the vial.

"_I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing! I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!_" Hermione felt sick within, a strange compulsion she could not contain. Anger coursed through her body, and she lashed out further, the empty vials joining the shards on the floor.

"_I want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!_"

Poppy struggled to hold Hermione as she violently slapped, punched, kicked, and pinched the nurse. The assistant, realizing the fight, came to her mistress' aid. Between the two medi-witches, they managed to prevent further damage to property or person. Hermione's strength suddenly subsided, and she merely sulked, a pout forming on her face.

"You'll leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing when I tell you!" The nurse huffed. "A temper tantrum for a grown witch," she mumbled as she turned to clean up the new mess. "I've never seen the like."

"I still want to leave this bloody dreadful hospital wing!" Hermione protested as she hid under her covers. Usually, after such an emotional fight, Hermione would be dreadfully exhausted. And she was. But for some odd reason, though, she couldn't sleep and felt more than restless.

The next morning Hermione was released back into her own care. It was just as well, as neither patient nor practitioner had any patience left.

Her leg somewhat healed, she shuffled down the corridors toward her rooms. She frequently found herself having to lean against the wall, hissing in pain from her deformed wound.

She was tired, very tired, indeed. Her wound was more of a nuisance than she had thought it would be. Over the last few days she hadn't slept well, and she felt like she needed to yell at something to release the frustration welling up inside her. The pain in her leg only drove her more mad.

In a show of good health before the students, Hermione forced herself to walk as normally as possible. The effort only made her leg throb in agony. With more pain came more aggravation, and her nerves reached the breaking point.

A Hufflepuff third year girl passed her, looking like she had just exited a brothel and smelling of _way _too much perfume. Was she _trying _to suffocate the whole castle with that stench?

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff for that awful smell!" the professor yelled out angrily. The poor girl looked up at her, her earthy green eyes tearing up from the insult. "Another five point reduction for crying! Get out of my sight before I take more points off, you stupid girl!"

What was she doing? She sounded like Snape, after all. This wasn't her; it just wasn't! As Hermione watched the girl dash down the corridor, she felt pin-stabbing pain return to her leg. She collapsed in a sprawling heap.

Determined not to be sent back to Madam Pomfrey's care, she tried to scramble her way back to her feet before anyone saw her. Already her pride was bruised; it would be devastated if anyone saw her like this.

Hermione needed to get to her private labs and brew her own special salve for her wound. But _first_, she needed to find her crutches.

Searching furtively, she finally located one amidst the pile of her books splayed behind her. Just as she twisted to retrieve it, her leg singed in pain again. She instinctively huddled it close to her, falling into a fetal position. The pain was unbearable; she had to separate herself from it. Rocking on her side, she closed her eyes and began to dream of somewhere far away, a paradise, tropical fruits, clear and blue waters, soft, warm sand…

"_Hermione..._" a voice whispered softly to her from behind, causing a tingle to spread throughout her spine and body. She felt a large, rough hand shake her shoulder and her paradise slipped from her mind. No, _no_. _Don't go away…_

Oh, she tried to retrieve it, she _tried_, but this _insistent _person continued to cry her name and shake her. Aggravation tugged at her again as she opened her eyes to see the stone floor.

Her paradise was lost to some bloody dunderhead!

Anger peaked up from the depths of her tainted soul. They would _pay!_

Reaching up with both hands, she latched onto the intruder's forearm, yanked it down across her chest and hurdled herself forward in a barrel roll, taking the arm with her. She heard a heavy thump as her opponent flipped over her and hit the ground where she had formerly been facing. Without thought, she let go of the arm, twisted around and rolled halfway up onto a broad, firm body. She wanted control. She wanted to injure. Hermione felt the strange urge to bite them, but it dulled as she looked down into the shocked blue eyes of Remus Lupin.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed out dangerously, feeling herself sink her nails into his already scarred skin.

"Me? You're the one who was curled on the floor in obvious distress, and is now currently lying atop me, pinning me to the floor," he coolly retorted.

It took a moment for her senses to return, but she realized he was right. Her grip lessened, but as she looked into his unreadable eyes, she felt herself inwardly retreat to an imaginary corner, her imaginary tail in-between her legs.

Her tail? Hermione shook her head to clear it of such nonsensical thoughts. She eased her grip on him and crawled awkwardly off him like a wounded animal. The pain in her leg lessened as she watched him sit up and formally dust himself off.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, a puzzled expression taking form at her timid reaction.

She looked up at him and wanted to crawl away in subservience. Something deep inside made her feel small and cowardly near him. Her hair stuck up on end as he stood up and grabbed her faraway crutches.

Her anger had dissipated, but the feeling of insecurity ignited in her.

Something about Remus made her feel weak and unsure of herself, as if she didn't know where she belonged. It was as if she grew timid around him because of some silly little school-girl gossip. She could even _hear _Lavender's words from their third year, "_I heard Professor Lupin's…well, you know… _huge_. He's so _muscular_ and his hands are just so _large_. Hermione, dear, don't blush! You're going to have to grow up some time!_"

"Are you alright?" Lupin asked again, startling Hermione from her reverie. She looked up at him with doe eyes.

The way he looked at her set her heart racing, blood pounding in her ears. Her hands, growing increasingly warm, stretched out for the damp cool of the stone. The hair on her nape bristled and chills ran down her spine.

"I-I'm fine," she stammered in a whisper, fearing he would strike her for her foolishness. She flinched as he swallowed uncomfortably.

"Let me bring you to my office," Remus said as he offered his hand to her. "It's closer than the hospital wing."

Hesitantly, Hermione slipped her hand in his and gripped it tightly. He lifted her effortlessly to her feet. Just as she steadied her weight, pain shot from her thigh to the soles of her worn-out, petite feet. She stumbled.

Hermione felt arms catch her flight to the bottom and, as she looked up, she saw a trace, just a _hint_, of something in her savior's eyes. Something she didn't know. It was a secret that was unfolding at the very moment, just blossoming on the palm of her hand like a dead rose bud.

It disappeared, leaving her in the cold arms of Remus Lupin.

Her leg throbbed and her head ached.

"Come on, let's go," he said somewhere in the distance. All she could do was nod and accept defeat.

She took her crutches from him and began to assemble herself for the walk. He patiently waited, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

They began to walk to the place that was dubbed his '_office_'. Of course, he wasn't a professor anymore. The best she could call him would be a bum, for he didn't work at Hogwarts at all. Yet he was allowed to live and stay there. It was something she knew her mother would call '_mooching_', as she herself had done before she had accepted the Potion's post. But she couldn't really blame him, either.

The war had, indeed, been fought and had supposedly ended, but the Ministry had basically declared war on the inhabitants it was trying to comb out. Decree after decree was passed, insuring for now and evermore that things would be very different than before.

Sunshine would not always rule supreme against the clouds.

Hermione remembered the strict restriction against werewolves, as if they were not worthy of anything but what they themselves made. Yet, in the end, they were always worthy of the attention by both media and public.

Separate bathrooms, churches, schools, and other facilities had been put up for werewolves. Of course, vampires had long ago been driven out with burning stakes and the blessed holy water; let France deal with them.

That was the name of the game - pass on burden upon burden to your neighbor. Let them worry about the unkempt lawn or the broken garbage cans. Or the blood-sucking half-breeds.

Hermione remembered when Remus came to the school…

_There he lay, face down on the stone cold floor where he fell. His limbs held his body together, as if it was all he had. It probably was._

_Hermione rushed over to him, brushing his unkempt, lice-infested hair away from his thick throat. Her warm, clean hands felt along the flesh for his vitals. Anything, oh, please, anything…_

_She felt his arterial pulse and sighed in relief._

"_Is he alright?" Poppy asked urgently from behind. Hermione vaguely nodded as she began to search him. Her fingers brushed past his hollow stomach where she found sticky, gooey substance and an embedded object. She brought the dark liquid to her line of sight._

_Crimson._

_Blood._

_Damn. _

_She called to others hovering to help. Gently they rolled him over to find a silver knife protruding from his abdomen. Someone had tried to redeem him from his damnation. How bloody noble of them._

_Her vision blurred as the tears came forth for him. Arms embraced her from behind. Minerva._

_She watched numbly while Madam Pomfrey conjured a stretcher and she and other staff members escorted Lupin to the hospital wing. All Hermione could do was stare. And cry… And cry._

_How could someone do that to him?_

_What if someone tries to do that to me? _

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts when she heard a small, gentle sob echo desperately down the corridor. Apparently Remus had heard it too, as his slow, short strides turned long and hurried. He searched around the tapestries and statues for the source. Hermione tried to keep up with him; she felt compelled to help him. But her attempts were feeble and failed sadly.

He found the source before she did.

Catching up to him, she saw him hugging a very small blonde. Hermione, shamefully, remembered who this girl

She was the Hufflepuff she had insulted just before she fell. The same girl she'd taken House Points from for her perfume.

The stench of said floral perfume wafted under Hermione's nose, stinging her eyes. Her hands clenched her crutches in a desperate attempt to use pain as a distraction. It wasn't working.

Before desperation led her to torture her own wound, Remus began to question the girl's reason for her tears.

"P-Professor _hic _Granger made fun of me...a-and took away House Points 'cause of my perfume."

Remus Lupin looked up at Hermione's sheepish expression for any sign of remorse. Then he turned back to the girl and smiled politely. Hermione scowled at his back; she had taken points away because the girl cried like a ninny.

Remus' voice was calm and soothing. "I think it smells wonderful; what's the occasion?" His worn but attractive features were bathed in kindness, and his mere presence was reassuring to the girl.

"Malcolm m-made fun of me _hic_ because I '_smelled bad_' to him. I really l-liked him and it hurt my feelings. I _hic_ thought the perfume would change his m-mind and he might like me."

"Well, don't listen to what little boys say; they don't know what they're talking about. I think you're already pretty and smell nice, no matter what you do to yourself."

"B-but…"

"You're going to always be pretty," he reassured her. "Don't change yourself for boys who don't deserve it."

A new pain stabbed ruefully at Hermione, worse than her leg wound.

_Ron and Harry._

Painfully, after graduation, she and Ron and Harry parted ways. Harry and Ron became respectful and over-worked Auror's, while she became a Potion's mistress. They had asked her to be an Auror with them and forevermore remain inseparable. But instead she turned down their pleas and became the deviant woman she was today.

They barely kept in touch, gathering only when Ginny persisted that they have a luncheon at some fancy restaurant Hermione could barely afford. It was heart wrenching.

Hermione once again snapped out of her maudlin thoughts as she looked down to meet the girl's dark green olive eyes. She looked smug as Remus hugged her, and Hermione couldn't help but want to give her a look as if saying, '_I don't care what Remus does that doesn't involve me.' _But she didn't have the chance to grimace.

Remus let their embrace die out and helped the Hufflepuff to her feet.

"Professor Granger was currently in an accident, so she's not feeling too well," Remus patiently explained. "She's very sorry to have hurt your feelings, but since she's not, as I said before, feeling too well, she won't admit it. Gryffindor pride, I suppose." Remus gave Hermione a coy and hidden wink that, for some reason, made her blood burst with anger once again. He turned back to the student. "When she's feeling up to it, I'm sure she'll write you an apology letter."

Her anger faded immediately when Remus again looked at her. A dreaded feeling of insecurity washed over instead, and this time she could just _feel _the imaginary tail between her sore legs.

"I think it's time you kicked Malcolm in the shins," Remus added jokingly. The Hufflepuff looked up at him with an admiration Hermione only knew from her love of knowledge and books. "Now, go run along. I have to have a little chat with Professor Granger, alright?"

The blonde nodded enthusiastically and skipped off with gusto, obviously much happier than before. Her heels clicked a beat of innocence that echoed throughout the corridor. Remus returned his attention to Hermione.

His office was nearby, and he ushered her there as quickly as he could manage. Once in the private air of his study, his gentlemanly manners came forth and he pulled a chair out for Hermione. She sank down both grateful and annoyed. She felt quite restrained and weak, so the chance to rest was wonderful. But it was disturbing to feel so _inferior_ and _timid_ without knowing why.

All around the office hung newspaper clippings of famous protests and riots made by werewolves and their clans. Elsewhere were hodge-podge frames of old black and white or new colored pictures, most crooked and bunched haphazardly together.

The subjects in the photos watched Hermione curiously as she looked around to observe her surroundings rather thoroughly. What they didn't realize (nor Remus himself, actually), was that a distinctive scent had caught the younger professor's attention.

If she had been able to smell this back in her third year, she wouldn't have wasted countless hours of looking through books and using her Time Turner to observe Lupin. The scent alone would have told her all she needed to know.

Distinctly musk, dirt, sweat, hormones… a male wolf. Confusingly, it was something she herself found oddly attractive and appeasing.

But even as she thought this, on the inside Hermione felt herself shrink and her paranoia shake her shoulders, begging her to keep a watchful eye out for anything peculiar or suspicious. She held her crutches with a steely grip, prepared to resort to use it as a weapon if necessary.

While Lupin seemed to be sorting through his desk full of more newspapers and parchments, Hermione continued to sniff the office environment. The appeasing scent tugged teasingly at her, its fingers extending and running through her unruly hair.

Her long face moved slightly, and she let her eyes search and explore more of the room itself. It was like the man himself, something he'd never show anyone. Her chest constricted and her heart beat rather erratically.

Feeling eyes on her, Hermione turned to see Remus looking at her, an odd expression crossing his gaze. His eyes were wide – blue outshone the blotchy red around them. His lips were parted as if daring himself to say anything. All together, he looked like the wolf he was, perched over the papers on his desk in a protective and explorative manner.

Something about the analogy made Hermione tingle and feel something erupt in her.

_Kiss him…_

Strangely enough, Hermione found that a part of her found the command rather appealing and was leaning in to do so.

_Taste him…_

She found the other, more stubborn part of herself persisting _no, _making her grip her crutches and the chair leg even harder – anything to possibly stop her from doing something ridiculous.

He himself looked quite shocked but relieved at her odd behavior.

She found her lips part and her mind reel into a zone unknown to her. A part of her begged to have his lips taste hers, to fulfill this discomforted beast that tried to resided within the deepest parts of her already tainted soul.

Something else, though very private and shoved faraway, tugged at Hermione on the inside, making her breathing elaborate and begging her to accept who she was. Did she truly need to take a step back and analyze _everything?_

_Stop!_

She sat back in the chair and tried to calm herself. What was she _doing?_ None of her behavior was making any sense whatsoever.

She looked back up to see Remus continue to look through his papers as if nothing happened. _Had _anything happened? But triumph rose within her when she noticed the red blush on his pale, scarred face. Inside she wanted to howl in triumph and jump onto Remus' back playfully and immaturely, but on the outside, she looked like she was pleased to be in the room with him. She looked like she wasn't pining for something that she wasn't quite sure of yet.

"Aha! Found it!" Remus cried in delight, his jubilee apparent as he showed her a clipping from what she guessed was a week-old newspaper. His false cheer made her wonder how he had gotten so good at bringing it up quickly during any rather awkward situation. Like a former student physically restraining herself from passionately attacking him would qualify as an awkward situation. Would it?

"This article declares that the newest Decree - number three hundred and fifty-four - states that every worker, no matter what job he or she has, must be tested for Lycanthropy."

"Well, it doesn't affect you, since you don't have a job, so why worry?" Hermione asked, trying to avoid his bright blue eyes. Something about them brought him dominance in the situation. They needed to be avoided.

"They're going to question why a werewolf is staying at Hogwarts," he replied coolly. More and more he was becoming the wise Alpha. This analogy made her scowl on the inside.

"They're going to want to know why I'm special and get help at Hogwarts. They are more than likely going to ship other werewolves over here since I can stay here if we don't give them a legitimate reason."

"Where will you go then?"

"Nowhere. The Headmistress says that I can be offered a job by you to be your assistant."

This struck Hermione painfully. She blinked several times rapidly. "My assistant?" she croaked.

His bushy eyebrows rose, and a warm smile bloomed on his face. "When do I start?"

* * *

**Review replies: **

**amoramor -** Thanks for the review! I appreciate your opinion, and quite frankly I was jumping for joy. No one usually tells me that "my writing'snot working". And yes,your wordsmake much sense and I do agree with you. :)

**Mirella -** Thanks for the review! Is this chapter interesting, too?

Anyway, please review? I will be eternally greatful to hear your opinion, whether you think this is the worst storyin the challenge or not. I'd like to know. :)


	3. Part 3: The Determined

**Disclaimer - **I do not own Harry Potter and Co. It seems that J.K. isn't as willing to sell her idea of Harry Potter on Ebay as I hoped she would. I still have my witty and weird mind to help me conjure up things even J.K. can't. It seems one _can_ take pleasure in the simplest of things.

* * *

She forced the wheels in her brain to turn, to find an answer to this unexpected problem. And a problem it was. Lupin, her assistant? No; she couldn't have it. This sense of insecurity she somehow knew was a permanent situation. It was bad enough being around him some of the time, cowering down. But _all of the time? _No. Not a good idea. 

But she couldn't reject this man. He had so often been rejected before, just for being what he was. Who was she to treat him with such disrespect and arrogance? How could she force him to become Hagrid's assistant or something else instead, lugging around heavy trunks of Quidditch gear? He had been a professor of the Dark Arts, after all. And a bloody good one, too.

"Well," she began, trying to figure out how to make him her assistant without ever having to see or speak with him.

_Or his bright blue eyes._

"The fifth years took a quiz last Thursday, and as it's Sunday already and I haven't started grading them yet, I guess I could use some help there. You could grade those for me today."

He looked relieved.

"Let's get you started then, shall we?"

She awkwardly led the way down to the drafty, damp dungeons, Lupin gracefully trailing beside her, ever-ready to assist should she slip. Her private labs would be her primary residence for the day, so she intended to keep him in her office while she worked. He was too much a distraction.

Her office smelled faintly of a floral essence and… female hormones? How could she have missed that?

The slimy, eerie jars left by both Snape and Slughorn had been removed, their contents given to the House Elves to clean and dispose of. The once dark, wooden chairs were replaced with ones her mother had brightly painted. All green was removed and replaced with colors Hermione herself found comforting and appeasing. Green reminded her of soggy string beans and horrid bath soap that should never be sold to anyone.

Everything in the room was neat and orderly, just the way she liked it.

Locating a niche suitable, Hermione set up a desk for Lupin, gave him the quizzes and left him to his work. She retreated to her adjacent private labs and threw herself into her work. The salve she had mentally prepared earlier in her head began to take physical form beneath her hands, and as she worked Hermione couldn't help but stare back at the door leading to her precious office. For some odd reason, leaving Remus alone in it made her feel uncomfortable, as if letting him explore the depths of her soul uninvited. Her secrets, _everything_, would be revealed for him to see.

She also couldn't let him have the chance to demolish her office and '_mark his territory_'.

Wait. Where did that come from?

But her reasoning left as soon as it appeared, and the instinctive emotional side of her took over. She was just about to storm angrily into _her_ office, demand that Remus leave and go rot in _hell_ for all she cared, when her wound began to throb painfully. It was as though it could comprehend her thoughts and took action to obey her unwanted conscience.

By the time the twinge finally subsided, her anger had abated and she reluctantly returned to her work, grumbling in the process. She was finding it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. Something nagged at her; something was out of place. It was annoying her, like that Hufflepuff's perfume. Let's see, that ninny student crying… Remus being his usual comforting self… the wolfish grin and wink he gave her…

That's it! She had to start making Remus' Wolfsbane potion!

Making a mental note to start it as soon as possible, her thoughts returned to her own lotion in the making. Yet, still, something nagged at her. Had she forgotten something? She looked over the ingredients for the salve. No, everything was there. This plant to heal, that herb to cleanse…

Her wound.

Suddenly dozens of thoughts and questions began to pour out of her soul that she didn't even know she held. But one thought stood out among all of them.

Which beast had bitten her that night? The wolf or the werewolf?

If the wolf bit her, she'd be able to live, but if the werewolf had…

Dread crept up on her, fear and sorrow following. Why hadn't she thought of this before? It was so important and crucial! _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

It would explain so much, she realized as she assembled herself with her crutches and began to race as quickly as she could to her office. Her personality and mood swings, her suddenly highly-screen senses. With ignorant gusto, Hermione threw her office doors open, not caring if Remus thought she'd lost her mind. It was already in a frail state; he probably wouldn't even notice if she completely lost it.

The unexpected intrusion, of course, startled Remus. So much so his movement knocked over the bottle of blue ink he was using to grade papers… directly into his lap. He jumped up, sputtering words Hermione wasn't sure were defined as words. Somehow that very sight abated her anger and made her want to throw a dictionary at him.

She dottily ignored him, humming a tune she made up as a child and used when she was searching dearly for something. Now she was searching for knowledge. Her expansive bookshelf loomed in front of her, texts of magical beasts entwined with those on potions, curses, history. Texts on centaurs, unicorns… werewolves.

She threw a few books to the floor, not caring if she hit Remus in the process. Her crutches painfully hit her underarms every time she crashed back down after the success of finding the right book. Once she'd located the significant ones, she charmed them from her feet back into her arms and, on a single crutch, charged out of her office. She was a witch on a mission.

As she rushed, she tried to skim through the books, verifying they contained key words or phrases she was searching for. She barely noticed Remus enter the room, his khakis still sporting his impromtu indigo patchwork. He watched her musingly as she threw book after unappealing book onto the floor after skimming it through.

"Hermione – are you…_alright?_" he ventured hesitantly. She jumped, obviously shocked at his presence. Her immediate reaction was instinctual - to protect her territory. The animalistic desire to growl at him was incredible, something she felt would scare him into backing off.

Before she could, though, a strange, new urge hit her once.

Oh, _dear_, when in Merlin's cursed name did he get so…_shag-gable? _

_(AN: I dearly apologize for this word appearing into the story. It was inspired from my friend who says 'tap-able' instead. It's rather pathetic, but I find it very amusing.)_

Hermionedearly wanted to rapt herself in the head with her books, hopefully knocking some sense back into her head. The only person who said '_shag-gable_' was, sadly enough, Ginny. She used it in describing any above-average looking guy to whom she wanted to do bad things.

Very bad things.

Hermione inwardly cringed.

But, back to Remus….

Her mind wheeled, flip-flopped, turned upside down and other unimaginable things as she couldn't help but take a glance – oh, okay _three _– at his tall, lanky frame. When she began to find _undernourished_, _weary_ men attractive, she didn't know, but at the moment she didn't care.

His hair was extremely light and fluffy, brown and oh-so touchable…

_Wait…_ When did she find her friend, her _ex-professor_, attractive? And why did grey-flecked hair and enigmatic blue eyes suddenly illuminate sparks in her head, triggering something from a different and unnatural time she used to know and love?

"I have to go," she squeaked, afraid to say more. She rushed out of the dungeons, daring not to look back. Her odd behavior was surely noticed. Oh, she was in so much trouble. If Remus ever figured out how mentally ill she really was…

* * *

Remus stood still, frozen, like a wolf catching a distant, unfamiliar noise in a dark, unfamiliarforest. He was staring at the door, unsure of what he had just witnessed. 

Did Hermione...just - _admire_ his..._body?_

He blinked a few times trying to shove away the drowsiness overcoming him. The wolf in him was stirring on purpose; something had aroused its interest. He looked about himself and noticed the blue ink on his pants. That might have been why Hermione had looked at him the way she did.

He pulled out his wand and cleared the ink from his only non-patched up pants. There, that took care of _that _and the glances others were also bound to give him. But it did nothing for the curiosity that was unnaturally growing within. To quell it, he picked up one of the books Hermione had discarded.

_The Magical Realm: Where Creatures of the Dark Roam_

_Funny title_ was all he could think of, considering Hermione's interests. He placed it neatly onto the table beside the boiling potion. He had too much to do to let mysteries steal his attention. (Plus, hewas sure that Hermione would have his head is he tried to tamper with her potion. She _was _the Potion'sMistress, after all.)He turned and made his way back to the office, a stack of fifth year papers awaiting his quill.

* * *

Hermione had almost violently excavated through rows upon rows of books, searching desperately for the right title with the right information. It seemed like she was asking for too much, like a male asking for a 30-something year old virgin to wed. 

She needed the information she was seeking desperately. Her very livelihood, indeed, her very _life_, depended on it. So far nothing was helping, and by the look on Madam Pince's sallow face, Hermione knew she wouldn't be invited back in the library for tea or books anytime soon.

Frustrated and angry, Hermione cried out. First a whimper, then a groan, then a full-fledged shriek. She furiously threw herself down onto the carpeted rug of the Restricted Section. Sod all those who would think she wasgoing nutters! She had failed to find a book with the information she sought. It was unheard of. Her heart paced a thousand miles a minute and her frustration compelled her vent against something, _anything_.

She clenched her fists and angrily slammed them to the floor. The jarring brought her wound's pain back tenfold, increasing her agitation even more. She just couldn't win no matter how hard she tried to.

She dug her bruised palms into her burning, bloodshot eyes. Nothing was giving her a clue as to how to diagnose a werewolf, non-painfully and non-illegally, in its early stages. For all she knew, she could be one, a true creature of the darkest pits of children's nightmares and its own personal hell.

Hermione had to know. She needed to find out if she was a werewolf or simply suffering a wolf's wound. If she was the former… Well, she'd just have to figure out what to do. She could add herself to recipient end of her stores of Wolfsbane potion and suck it up.

Hopingto disappear undetected, Hermione retreated out of the library before she would have to replace the books in their dust-covered homes. Normally she would have done so happily, but at the moment she simply didn't feel up to it. She had other issues at the moment to handle, thank you.

A stubborn Gryffindor on a mission was not someone you would try to mess with.

A plan began to formulate in her head. As she maneuvered her way through the corridors brimming with students mourning the loss of their Saturday to horrible weather, she couldn't help but choke and gage at the outrageous scents. The place reeked of pheromones, cologne, sweet citrus, differing degrees of hygiene… She could even make out female hormone levels, where each was in the monthly cycle.

Once she made it to the Gryffindor Tower, she quietly thanked Merlin she was able to breathe again in the deserted entrance. She muttered the password ("_Bouncing Tulip Bubs_") and entered the peaceful, almost desolate common room. The fire crackled happily in the hearth,and the gloomy weather hung about the windows like a plague. The sheer joy that radiated from it all made Hermione smile.

Just as she was celebrating her newfound, momentary happiness, she noticed a second year boy playing a game of Wizard's Chess by himself. He directed the shining gold and silver pieces byhimself with not outside interference, all the while concentration shining on his face. He looked like Neville Longbottom before he met the ever-so black and scarcastic Professor Severus Snape.

She approached him slowly, startling him only when her crutch creaked ominously against the wooden floor. He shot up, fumbling for his wand. He nearly knocked his entire chess set to the floor.

"Mister Giddies, please calm yourself," Hermione barked, her reply harsher then she intended. She began to feel sheepish at realizing she was acting just like that bastard Snape when he tormented Neville. Was it that all inhabitants of the dungeons would turn nasty at some point in time? Or was it just the people who had bloody horrid hair? "It's only Professor Granger here. I need you to do me a..._favor_."

He looked up at her with wide eyes and gulped nervously. It seemed it wasn't the only time he was asked to do something that no one else dared to do.

A sheepish expression appeared on her face for scaring him. First that Hufflepuff, and now him?

"Tell me; is your chessboard real silver and gold?"

He looked at her first in confused alarm, then slightly bemused. She was eying pieces, many of whom were getting agitated at the delay in the game and were resorting to insulting each other like their barbaric nature intended them to.

She waited for him to reply, quickly glancing about the room to insure it was otherwise unoccupied. After a lengthy pause, he answered.

"Uh, yes, professor," he replied, meekness showing on his round face.

"Hand me that silver piece, please," she commanded, trying to keep her tone less harsh than before. He did as he was told, picking up a protesting silver pawn and dropping him into her open palm.

She trapped the pawn within the cage of her fingers, enjoying the sight of the piece squirming uncomfortably against her scarred flesh. She waited, her fear disappearing while the perspiration on her brow increased. The wait was nerve-wracking. She was still fearful that the tides might turn on her.

Just as she was about to throw the piece to the floor in jubilation, her skin bubbled. Pain like she'd never before experienced coursed from her palms up her arm, and she shrieked out in absolute fear and pain.

In retaliation, she threw the piece into the fire, watching with sick satisfaction as the flames licked it to its satisfying death. Her hand burned as though she'd stuck it instead into the hearth, too. The skin that once bubbled calmed down but left a strange burnt mark in the shape of the once struggling pawn.

The perspiration on her forehead swam across her skin, falling towards the ground that seemed to be shaking before her. Her head became dizzy, and everything seemed to float around her.

_She was a werewolf._

"Professor Granger?" a timid voice squeaked, startling her from her shock. She rested her lazy, brown eyes onto the scared, petite boy hiding behind a large chair.

She barely registered her own voice as she answered. "Don't – don't you dare repeat what you've seen. It's between you and me, understand?"

She struggled for her breath, hoping she'd convinced him. By the look on the boy's face, she had.

"One word, just _one_, of what you saw, and I'll be on you like an starving wolf."

As she inwardly flinched at the simile she used, he gulped and nodded, squeaking when she groaned out in pain. She felt her whole hand grow numb from the draining experience. She desperately gripped her crutch, and after several tries to calm herself, started out of the room. She hoped that the new knowledge she obtained would turn out to be as positive as informative.

She could only pray so.

* * *

Well, there are actually 5 parts to this. This was Part 2, along with Chapter 2, but my beta and I decided to split it up instead. 

Ah, I really have nothing to put in here...but I would like to say that the Remus/Hermione romance will come at the last chapter of this story. I thought I'd say that now before someone asks me.

And, Hermione's a werewolf! Yeah, it's finally brought out even though I know all of you already knew that...

But anyway, review please!


	4. Part 4: The Damned

**Disclaimer - **I do not own Harry Potter because, well...I just don't. I'm too lazy to get all Hermione on you and give you various reasons and scientific facts to explain it and prove it.

* * *

Hermione couldn't concentrate, let alone breathe as she inhaled the toxic fumes permeating her senses. Thick clouds hung over the cauldron, obscuring her sight as well. She rubbed her head, trying to figure out how the formula in front of her would work.

If she added dragonfly wings, melted them into a paste, and added dusted powdered unicorn horn, she'd get the salve she desperately needed. But something wasn't right; the paste wouldn't stick together. It would lose its potency once cold and would turn into a sticky liquid. She knew there was something stupidly she was forgetting to add, but she couldn't think. All she could remember was showing up at breakfast and learning that the House Elves weren't on strike anymore. That would be wonderful, except that meant she would have to eat with real silver utensils in front of everyone. She noticed with distasteful jealously that Remus was pleasantly eating with wooden utensils. And looked very sexy in doing so, as well.

The thought of having to be confronted with silver in front of everyone was what brought her to barricade herself in her private labs. She had to come up with a concoction to help her eat with silver. Her options weren't too appealing.

She could have snuck into the kitchens and threatened to give the House Elves clothes if they didn't give her wooden utensils every meal time. She could have slipped her own utensils to the Great Hall every meal and hoped that no one would notice. She even could have gone to Minerva and told her that she was indeed a werewolf, but she couldn't and didn't. That brought her to her present position.

She knew that eventually would have to face silver and the truth. And she knew she would have to go to Minerva, but she just couldn't do it yet. Even though she used to bounce around energetically, she was too emotionally weak to confront her boss at the moment. It didn't help that she would, as she had recently read, be prone to unprovoked outbursts that might hurt somebody. So conclusively, she knew she would have to hide her secret for as long as she could.

The lotion she had made yesterday for her wound was currently resting on her bare thigh. The lotion couldn't touch anything but her skin, else the healing process would be interfered with. In order to keep this isolation, Hermione had to get into a rather uncomfortable position – one she had been in for over an hour and a half. She was getting stiff.

Thankfully her mind had cleared somewhat, and she added to the cauldron a few thick hairs she had taken from Remus' robes. This proved the most effective way in getting werewolf hair. It was quicker than ordering it and much less expensive. An added plus: it was much more discreet.

The genetic code the werewolf hair held might help to bind the potion to her skin instead of binding ingredients together. Testing her theory, she scooped the ladle into the bubbling paste and mixed the light brown hairs into the potion itself. The contents turned from light lavender to bright blue. So far so good.

Hoping for the best in her dark situation, Hermione tilted the ladle and watched the thick paste fill the cup she held. Then she poured the paste onto her hand and smeared it between her palms. An involuntary hiss erupted from her lips; it burned her flesh.

She watched with curious interest as it eerily absorbed into her skin, and waited a few moments for the tingling feeling to dissipate. Slowly, Hermione gripped her silver knife, the same she had used only nights before on that fateful excursion. She held the sharp blade and looked away, fearing the worst. If something were to go wrong, the silver would be able to absorb into her bloodstream quicker than before, thus leaving her in rather '_deep shit_'.

After what seemed forever, Hermione began to feel weak and dizzy. Looking back at her hand, she saw with immense joy that there were no bubbles on her skin, only crimson blood. She was laughing slightly, feeling her energy drain as she dropped the knife, its blade crashing in echoes on the cold stone floor.

The metallic scent of her own blood was tempting, and she watched intently as it dripped from her palm onto the wooden surface of the counter. She rode the waves of temptation and brought her cut hand to her open and willing tongue.

With pleasure and gusto, she greedily licked her whole hand clean, sucking gently on the wound itself and finding intense pleasure in cleaning it dry. Once cleaned, she hesitated, waiting in anticipation of more blood to flow out. When it didn't, Hermione grabbed a piece of cloth from a drawer in the counter and regretfully wrapped her fresh wound.

Her ingenious creation was a success; its potential was endless. Werewolves could be less conspicuous in public, perhaps hide their true identity to prevent Ministry interference. She could grow rich in its production. But those were thoughts for a later time. For now, her weariness prevailed, and she rested her head onto her outstretched arm and absorbed what she had just done.

A few minutes were all she could afford, however; she had two batches of Wolfsbane to brew. One of which had to be kept secret. Sighing and wishing that Remus was actually trained in the Potions field so he could help her, Hermione stood up, gathered her crutches, and began to assemble the necessary ingredients.

It was full moon already.

Hermione had tried her best to create as many potions as she could to help her aid in disguising her disease and damnation. She had to hide it from everyone, especially Remus. Werewolves would be more than likely to recognize their own kind – especially when they were connected by blood. She couldn't allow that.

The value of these new potions was enough such that she could retire now and never have to encounter a brat, let alone another human being. But that would mean she would have to be open with her disease. Unfortunately, she simply couldn't lie, saying she tested them all on Remus alone. So for now, financial independence simply wasn't going to be.

She sat, feeling desolate, in her private labs where everything that would be harmful to her was cleared from the room hours beforehand. It didn't help that the dungeons were drafty and that she sat, huddled on the floor, naked as the day she was born.

Her bare bottom was freezing as she tried to huddle herself even closer to her frozen form. The book she had read said that when a werewolf was clothed before transformation, it was more than likely to get tangled up in its clothes and suffocate itself, or would simply shred every article to useless bit and pieces. Why waste her limited supply of clothing?

As the hours passed, she waited, her breath coming out in odd gasps. Time seemed to be trying to confuse her already cursed mind. She was cold and scared and still hurting. Though her leg was now nicely healing, it still ached, particularly every time she violently shivered.

Hermione took a glance at her wound. A sense of pride welled up in her; she, not Madam Pomfrey, was able to heal it herself with medicine that she herself made from scratch. Being a Potion's Mistress did come in handy on occasion.

All of a sudden, before Hermione could register what was happening, her bones began to ache like never before. Her muscles began to contort and deform. Pain shot through her body, signaling the beginning of her first transformation.

She cried out a groan and whimper, the sounds mixing horridly. Did that come from her? She fell forward onto all fours, waiting for the transformation to complete. It wasn't easy.

Her heart began to furiously pump more and more thickening blood. The veins themselves constricted then unnaturally widened to accumulate the flow of the blood. She wanted to desperately vomit.

Her pulse was increasingly rapid, her heart slamming harder against her chest. She swore vehemently a stream of curses when she felt the muscles widen and grow. As more pain flew through her body like loose fireworks, Hermione threw her head back, feeling her throat close up tight on her. She panicked, gasping for the lost oxygen her fiery lungs demanded. But her constricted throat wouldn't allow it. Dread and fear continued to seep into her brain.

Suddenly her throat opened, retching in a gulp of breath. She knelt down and leaned her sweat-drenched forehead against the cool floor. She gasped out breaths at a time, feeling relaxed, a tickling sweat roaming down her re-arranged body.

She looked at her body choked back a scream. Her body looked half wolf and half deformed human being seeking redemption from experimentation.

Her vomiting episode would have to wait, as would her trapped horrific shriek: a jolt rocked her jaw as her teeth began to grow unnaturally long. Her jaw snapped from its socket, and all the profanity she'd learned from watching Quidditch matches choked in her throat. Her facial bones widened and elongated, and just as she thought she could endure no more, her jaw then snapped back into socket with a sickening _pop_ and a jolt of pain. The tears that had blurred her vision fell freely. But it wasn't over yet.

Other bones began their own transformations. Larger and larger they grew, additional, longer muscles forming about them. Her skin pulled and contorted sickeningly. Her toes scraped against the floor as she felt her feet stretch out, sending her ankles higher up her legs. She felt as though at any second her flesh was going to burst and show her new bones and muscles to her searing eyes.

A strangled cry ripped from her throat as skin cells began to multiply and fill with wolfish adrenaline seeping from her own hormones and genetic DNA. Her skin now fit her body like a tight glove. It was peculiarly relaxing.

But her relaxation didn't last long as the hairs on her whole naked form began to grow from the depths of their nerves. The sensations frightened her. The strands grew to show themselves, long, dark brow with a frizzy texture. Heat rose from her skin as though her whole body was on fire. The transformation was exhausting. Just as she thought it might be over, a final change wrought itself upon her.

Like a huge tidal wave, she felt her animal instinct and wolfish nature rush to the control the central core of her already battered brain. She could _feel _the battle between her own soul and the damnable curse. But the battle did not last long, and her own scarred soul won.

Relieved, she fell to the floor, feeling lifeless and afraid to move her own body. Or, what was apparently her body.

A hoarse cry escaped her, coming out more of a growl. Then she whined. The wound on her leg seared in renewed pain as she tried to sit up.

Taking in gulping breaths, she stretched her claws across the flagged stone in an effort to hoist her body up. But her efforts were futile, and, exhausted, she gave in to the weariness overcoming her. Sinking back down into a curled position, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. If she cleared her mind, she might just get some sleep….

* * *

Remus lay curled up in his own private office.

The newspaper clippings hanging on his wall flowed silently from the cold air seeping in from the ill-fitting window. The only thing keeping him warm from the annoying draft he could do nothing about was his thick fur. When he regained his human form and powers, he was going to have to fix that pane.

He could hardly believe that it had been hours since his transformation had reduced him to his current state. It felt like mere minutes ago his body was alit with intense and reoccurring pain. His muscles and bones still felt weak from the powerful curse of the full moon. He knew the ache would go away if he tried to stretch himself out, but he didn't feel like it at the moment. He truly wasn't in the mood to do any sort of physical activity.

This past week had been a bitch. He'd trudged around the castle, an imaginary being pounding his head with a hammer. His eyes would come in and out of focus, tearing up from the blinding pain of blinking slowly. He remembered having to lean against the walls as migraines plagued him. He definitely remembered Hermione taking better care of him than usually Madam Pomfrey did.

He could barely work on the assignments Hermione tossed him. His attention seemed fixed upon her. She was bouncy and energetic, talking to him on how she had made close to at least twenty new potions. Her work was so intelligent that he began to look at her in a whole new aspect. Not only was she bright, but also very talented at her position. When she was determined and focused, she was more than likely to succeed.

Oh and how could he forget admiring her body, which he suddenly found to have grown up quite a bit?

As soon as he thought it, he shook the memory away regretfully. He growled softly and willed himself to forget all about Hermione and her appealing body. But he already missed her company, though it had been rare in the past week. If he tried hard enough, he could still smell her.

She silently and slowly disappeared from his mind. He focused on trying to roll over and find a comfortable position. It was rather difficult, though, since he was hiding under his cramped desk. Perhaps he really should retire to his rooms.

Growling softly in self-reproach, he crawled out from the cubby hole, intent on slipping to his rooms, when a scent wafted on the breeze. It was oddly appeasing and tempting to follow. It was the scent of another werewolf. A female werewolf.

_A mate._

Instantly Remus was on point. He scrambled to the heavily warded door. He concentrated hard, eventually opening the door. He had taken to casting a charm upon his office and rooms before transformations. In the event the Wolfsbane Potion didn't work, the security would protect others from him. However, if he was in his right mind, he would be able to concentrate hard enough to allow the door to open of its own accord.

Silently and cautiously, he began to follow the scent.

Back in the old days he'd run into the Forbidden Forest to stir up some fun. Nowadays it was best he hole up in his rooms. But tonight he had a scent to follow.

It seemed to permeate up from the dungeons, her distinct scent harboring deep within. His heart began to beat at a quickening pace. He felt alive, surreal. He was absorbed… and aroused.

His claws scratched against the stones as he drove on down toward the dungeons. He was beyond caring if someone saw him. He was desperate and lonely, seeking something he didn't come across often.

It was common knowledge that female werewolves were harder to come by these days. It was even said that males were more than likely to be bitten or willingly cursed. Remus himself had only come across two females (not including this one he smelled now) in his whole life. The first already had a mate much larger and powerful than he was. The other was quite young, a small child actually, who had committed suicide after her first transformation.

Even though he knew there wasn't another male werewolf in the entire castle, he was still desperate in the chase. He needed to claim this piece of flesh before anyone else could.

Even though his logical side was arguing with him on a very dangerous topic, his animalistic side shoved it quickly aside. Never before allowing this, such primal power scared Remus. But his fear did not last long. The desire to mate with this newcomer was overwhelming.

He scrambled down the steps to the dungeon, skidding to a stop by the door he could sense was warded. He knew he'd never be able to open it as quickly as he wished, but he also knew that females were much weaker. He'd be able to break through the feeble ward.

He backed himself up to the stone wall and charged, ruthlessly bashing his head against the aging wood. Old though it may be, it was also quite solid. But he would not give up. Continuously, he bashed his head against the door, ignoring the pain. Finally, the door split open.

* * *

Hermione found herself rudely disturbed from her well-deserved nap when her office door was ripped apart, totally demolished. Through the jagged hole in the door, the very familiar face of a brown werewolf hung ominously. It was the one who had bit her, the cause of all her woes.

Hermione growled menacingly, not moving, as the hairs on her body stood up angrily. She was warning him, '_back the fuck off_'. He snarled just before he disappeared from her door altogether. Just as she was bracing herself to stand on all fours and defend herself, she glanced at the bewitched window on her wall. The bright full orb hanging over the trees of the Forbidden Forest was rapidly disappearing. If she was able to defend herself long enough, they'd both transform, giving her enough time to escape. And she'd know who bit her.

Unexpectedly, the intruder jumped into her office. His fur was on edge, poised for attack. Slowly and painfully, she stood up on all four of her petite paws. Her body felt abnormally heavy upon her weak bones. Her movements were awkward and she felt her legs give slightly. She whined, flinched, and slowly stood up, feeling her wound seep its pain throughout her body.

The wolf looked intently at every aspect of her new body. His stare was disturbing, unnerving her deeply. It didn't help that his blue eyes were strangely familiar, their smoldering gaze full of something she couldn't understand piercing her very being.

A menacing growl erupted from her as she backed herself into a corner, her lack of coordination doing little to back up her verbal threat. Her stalker didn't even flinch. His prey was too tempting, his intent too focused. She was in trouble.

As he continued to eye her, Hermione's curious logic stepped in. Why would this werewolf be tracking her down? How did he get into the castle? He had already cursed her life (though the potions she'd created due to her contraction of lycanthropy would make her a fortune), so what did he want?

She poised to bring up another growl and strike him with her long, protruding claws. It didn't matter why; he was here and she would defend herself. But just as she made to attack, a scent tickled her upraised nose. Male… very male. Testosterone at its most potent. Like an illegal drug, it both heightened and dazed her senses. Her raised paw faltered and her body began to succumb to this mysterious new sensation. Never had she felt so helpless and betrayed by her body. She wanted to fight, but her body didn't agree.

Her silent hypnotism broke suddenly as the full moon disappeared from her window. Her body began to twitch uncontrollably. It lurched and tumbled back into the embrace of the corner she had backed into. She howled out just as her jaw snapped sickeningly from its socket. A gurgling sound rose from her throat as she felt her body reverse back the transformation to her human form.

The long hair she'd once had disappeared back into her skin sickeningly. Her mane of bushy hair grew, returning to its original length. Long, thin fingers replaced the petite claws; her feet and ankles shrunk back to their slender, pale skinned selves. Then her jaw snapped back into joint, denoting the final touch of her return to self.

She whimpered, her own human voice echoing in the office, her ears greeting the familiar sound. The coldness of the dungeons returned to her shivering body, the loss of her fur blatant in the frosty air. Unfortunately, her demented wound reappeared, too. With it came shards of pain streaking through her body.

Biting her lip against the pain, she turned to view her intruder, just now completing his transformation. The site of his naked body collapsing to the floor startled her, pushing away her own pain. Moving slightly to glimpse the identity of her attacker, she jerked back abruptly when his hand reached out to seize a piece of furniture.

She shrank back and cautiously watched as he pulled his body up from the floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, the man dragged his limp legs closer to him, sat up and leaned casually against the table in exhaustion. He looked up, wearily glancing around to see where he had apparently brought himself this time.

Hermione gasped. The man's head wheeled around. Recognition hit both like a shockwave. This couldn't be. Hermione's voice hitched in her throat.

"Remus!" She felt betrayed beyond words. Something tugged angrily at her broken heart.

"_Hermione?_" he gasped out, turning his whole body around to face her. His eyes widened and gaped at her.

"You bit me!" she accused, tears streaking down her face. Strands of hair adhered to her skin in the saltwater wakes upon her cheeks. She wasn't the least bit bothered that either of them was totally naked. The knowledge that Remus was the cause of her pain, however, unnerved her dearly.

"We… we can't have a civilized conversation like this right now," he rasped out, the transformation still torturing his worn body. "Let-let's get dressed, and then we'll talk like civilized beings about this, alright?"

"Alright," she heard herself reply weakly. Although she wanted to race out of the room, allow this feeling of insecurity to dissipate, her body wouldn't move.

For a moment their eyes locked. Her heart sighed and merrily skipped a beat. Her anger faded quickly as a new sensation coursed through her veins. Something deep within her compelled her to look at his beautifully bare body now. She longed to touch it with the lust that was rapidly being unlocked.

She gasped aloud as her eyes returned to his, realizing he was appraising her form as well. A giddy joy washed over her.

But sanity returned abruptly. She could not let anything happen. Oh, no. Not that… well, not here or now, anyway.

In a sudden rush she stumbled up and across the frozen floor to her private rooms, still trying to maintain her newly-nudist dignity. It didn't help that her audience was her one infatuation. Could it get any better?

The dark olive room greeted her weary body but doing little to appease the fresh rush of anger she felt. How just plain _dare _he! She was so tempted to grab the vase on the bedside table and throw it to the ground. Anything to destroy, to vent her anger upon.

But her intentions were rudely interrupted; a very slight and dominating cough called from the open doorway behind her.

She wheeled around, her hair cackling with electricity. Remus, still in all of his naked glory, was waiting patiently, a sheepish expression on his unshaven face.

"Oh, do hold on one minute!" she snapped angrily, quickly grabbing the bathrobe hanging from the bathroom doorknob. She slipped it on and tied it securely at her waist. Turning, she walked back to face the man who was rapidly making her feel more and more insecure by the second. His dominance was bloody well… well, _dominant_.

"I hate to ask, but as I do not wish to be found romping throughout the hallways naked again…" He paused at her quirked eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Unfortunately I was caught on a previous occasion for doing so," he explained, a faint trace of blush coloring his pale face. "So to prevent having '_my private bits being chopped off,_' you wouldn't mind lending me some half-decent old attire, would you? I would be most grateful."

For what seemed the emotional rollercoaster ride of her life, her anger again abated, leaving behind bemusement, fondness, charity and attraction. "Hold on," she replied with a sigh, peeling her eyes away from his hairy and drawn-out chest.

She began to rummage through her drawers in search for the old pajama set her Aunt Winnie had sent her last Christmas. That they were several sizes too big was an understatement. The woman had an obsession for fattening Hermione up, often desperately shoving food down her throat at every family meeting.

The brutish plaid ensemble called pajamas were located and offered as nonchalantly as possible. Remus hesitantly stepped toward Hermione's outstretched arm, retrieved the hideous clothing and reluctantly drew them on. He watched Hermione slowly limp to her bed. She seemed worse off than he, and considering this must have been her first transformation, he was not surprised. She had not yet learned how to deal with it.

He slipped the top onto his frame, buttoning the abnormally large, white buttons into the sewn loopholes, all the while watching her through lowered lashes.

Her brown eyes were mesmerized by him, curious at nimble fingers that worked seriously to cover up his hairy being.

She must have dozed, because when she was next aware, Remus had silently sat down onto the edge of her bed, cautiously away from her huddling figure. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in territorial protection. Her heart constricted, and the hairs lay back down.

"We need to talk."

The words escaped her lips before they could escape his.

* * *

One more part to go before this is done!

The next part will be posted on Sunday, the last day for this challenge, just so you all know.

Review please! I'd truely appreciate it.


	5. Part 5: The Misplaced

This is the last part of the challenge that I hope you all like...

* * *

"So you bit me," was all she could say hours later when the two should have been at breakfast. They ignored each other, their instincts begging to glance in the other's direction.

"I-I'm terribly sorry. You know it was an accident." Lupin's voice was hoarse, and she wondered if he was going to cry. Men don't cry often; especially Alpha male werewolves.

Her heart wrenched as she watched him fiddle his fingers around the loose threads of the oversized pajamas. When she looked out of the artificial window, she felt his eyes on her once more. Her heart clenched when she looked back at him.

He truly looked horrible. The circles under his eyes seemed to have grown larger, darker. His hair appeared ready to fall out from the stress he was facing; the grays threatened to overtake his whole head. And he looked like he hadn't shaved in a week.

Hermione should consider herself lucky she hadn't been bitten when she was younger.

"I was trying to protect you." His explanation snapped her from her thoughts, causing her to look back at him.

For once, his blue eyes didn't seem quite so intimidating.

"I had my mind; your Wolfsbane made sure of that," he continued, his voice growing deeper with every word. It was as if talking about anything that had to do with his disease made him hateful. It was a side to Remus she hadn't seen before. "That wolf has been bothering the other creatures of the forest. It was only a matter of time before it would have harmed a human."

She felt the need to comfort him and went to put her hand on his shoulder. Before she could, though, the flames in her fireplace came alive like the resurrected dead. A deep emerald green danced in the grate, and it spat out a rather fancy looking letter. Baffled, Hermione went to retrieve it from the worn-out carpet.

"_Dear Hermione,_

_It's your darling friend writing once again! I have just spoken with Harry and Ron, and we've scheduled a luncheon at the new restaurant in the old part of Diagon Alley. It's called the Red Flames._

_The reservation's for one o'clock, so please, if you're going to come, arrive at least ten minutes early._

_Eagerly hoping you're coming,_

_Ginny…"_

Hermione groaned loudly, not caring if Remus heard, and tossed the heavily perfumed parchment onto her ancient oak desk. It crashed ungracefully into a stack of books on werewolves that she used to read at night to help her fall asleep.

Remus's cobalt eyes queried her. He continued to play around with the pajama threads, his hairy calf enjoying the softness of her comforter sprawled across the bedding.

She sat next to his large and protruding foot, inhaling the masculine scent of him. As the awkward silence stretched to unhealthy levels, she marveled at his long toes and the hair that spurted from them.

She started when he put his own hand onto her shoulder where her bathrobe was slipping off. Feeling the heat radiate from her, he scooted closer and squeezed her shoulder in a supportive gesture. Perhaps he was trying to ease her nerves. He was always doing things like that. But before she could turn and look at his face and get lost in his eyes once more, he climbed off of the bed. She hastily pulled her bathrobe back up and blushed shamefully. What had she been thinking?

He turned back towards her and opened his mouth to speak. The thoughts had been sitting patiently on his mind for a while now.

"I'll come back this evening and see how you're doing, alright?"

She couldn't help but nod and stare at the ground. Her mind protested her hearts urge to watch him leave her private rooms. It scared her to realize that no one but he had dared to enter her bedroom without her permission. It scared her more that she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

* * *

Hermione Jane Granger had just escaped what she liked to call her own personal hell.

Not only did lunch at the fancy restaurant rule as embarrassing, it ruled as something she had dearly hated – a nightmare ripped out from her mind that was traitorous enough to even conjure such atrocities!

After talking with Remus, she went to do her friendly duty to see Ron, Harry, and Ginny at the fancy restaurant to catch up on old times since they rarely visited each other. Everything had gone perfectly fine; they exchanged pleasant conversations with one another, talking about various things.

When Ginny asked Hermione how life was treating her, Hermione lied like she usually did when Ginny asked that question.

"_Oh, things have been going great! Hey, did I tell you that Remus is my new assistant? He's a wonderful worker and such an achiever! Yesterday, we were debating about this book I had recently gotten in Flourish and Blotts…"_

They lapsed into an awkward silence; regretfully, Hermione experienced this every time Ron looked at her and tried to bring up a safe topic of conversation for both of them. Though she had gotten over him years ago when they went their separate ways, it seemed Ron hadn't. It was easier to talk to Harry or Ginny, either or both of whom interrupted them when it seemed like they were about to start arguing again, or interjected a distraction if an awkward silence was about to creep up on them. Right in the middle of her conversation with Harry about self-stirring cauldrons, their food appeared. Not thinking clearly, Hermione grasped the pure silver utensils, ready to eat and continue their pleasant conversation.

Werewolves and silver do not mix well, and Hermione felt her hand burn like as if she had stuck it into a bonfire and could not get it out. She threw the utensil away, flustered in utter pain. Unfortunately, it flew across the room and stabbed a hot shot novelist in the arm. Luckily, no one else realized the origin of flight for said utensil.

Hermione's odd reaction with the silver forced her to tell her friends her deep, dark secret she'd shared only with Remus. To top the disaster off, she had to tell them in the public, as her friends wouldn't calm down enough to retreat to a private room. Hermione feared their public display would allow them to be overheard, leading to passers-by poking her with sacred, carved sticks in fear and scorn. But obviously no such thought entered her friends' minds.

Not only were Harry and Ron making a huge deal out of her new condition in the 'elegantly social' restaurant, but also they had declared their friendship over. They had called off all negotiation since she hadn't trusted them with her newfound damnation and tell them as soon as she had found out. She couldn't take it any longer.

After hell itself was over and done for now, Hermione found herself in her own private rooms, huddled on the floor, crying. She wished her life had not come to the way it was now, and it was all because of that stupid, stupid, bloody _stupid _plant!

Her hands vigorously wiped her tears away. She willed herself to not let their comments get the best of her. They'd be friends again; they'd make up like they always did. Right?

Just as she was about to continue drowning herself in her own misery and tears, she heard a small, gentle cough and looked up. The solemn, long face of Remus Lupin met her watery gaze.

"What do you want?" she asked dispassionately.

Of course, she knew why he was there. It was evening from what she could tell from her artificial window and he _had _said he'd come back to see how she was. He'd check to see if she was coping with everything in a healthy manner.

"You're door was open," was his explanation as he stood numbly in her doorframe.

"What do you want?" she repeated angrily. Her tears still unconsciously slipped from her burning eyes and rolled down her puffy, pink cheeks.

"You're crying." Brilliant bloody observation, Sherlock.

He edged closer and kneeled down before her weeping form.

"What do you want?" This time it was a hiss, venomous and low. She wanted to make her point clear: she wasn't in the mood for company. She knew Remus would not shun her. He had been shunned before and knew exactly how it felt to be disowned by people he loved. But it didn't matter; she wanted to be alone for now.

Before she could throw an unprovoked temper tantrum, he pulled her petite frame to his large, solid one.

This only brought more anger on her part as she began to punch and kick at him with all of her might. Just as she was about to play even dirtier and attack his most vulnerable areas, she felt his arm draw her even closer to him. It was as if he didn't care if he was hurt. Didn't he feel pain, too?

_Of course he does_, she thought_. Unfortunately, I'm the one causing it._

The tide of her sympathetic thoughts caused her tirade to subside, and she relaxed her head against his chest. Tears began, each unselfish, each only for Remus.

After mere minutes of the odd bliss, he shifted their forms against her bed. Though startled, she soon relapsed into the pleasure of another's company. So long ago she remembered huddling to herself in the girls' bathroom. She remembered trying to drown herself in the sorrows of her first year at the magical academy, no friends to help her adjust. Oh, how she would have loved the company of someone, besides the troll, to comfort her frail state of mind. She recalled Ron's rather hateful words then, just as she had moments before Remus came to comfort her now.

Lupin fingered her hair lovingly. It was pleasing, pleasurable to feel, especially when, deep down, she wanted him to touch her as much as possible. No one had dared to do it before – too afraid to ensnare their fingers within the depths of her unruly hair, most likely.

His scent inhaled into her brain, fogging it momentarily.

"Hermione," he murmured quietly. She responded with a soft '_hmm_'. "I really like you."

Though she found the line rather cheesy and something a hormonal teenager would say to lose his virginity before any of his friends, she was still flattered, She expressed her gratitude, replying with, "I like you, too, Remus."

In the ensuing silence she heard the soft drum of his heart beat rhythmically in his chest.

"I really, really like you," he murmured once again.

"As do I," she responded, feeling quite childish as a small smile formed on her puffy face. She rubbed her head against his soaked shirt - she would have to apologize for that later, of course. She could _feel_ the muscles under her face constrict, as if needing to gasp out a small amount of air for courage.

Silence floated around them awkwardly as if targeting their less-than-obvious weaknesses.

She felt him try to form words, but they never escaped his thin lips.

Just as she looked up to see if he was all right, his lips touched hers, quietly cutting off her question. Though taken aback by his stunning actions, she nonetheless quickly responded. She felt her back arch as his hand curled around the curves of her lower back.

Their lips readjusted to mold to each other in various ways. It was almost as if he was seeking the perfect way to further and hurry things along without trying to seem like he was too eager.

A moan erupted from her throat as their tongues began to caress each other. His boldness had her wanting to dearly express her own locked-away feelings for him. She ran her small nose around his jaw, breathing in his harboring scent and tenderly kissing his rough skin. Her hands began to search around him, feeling the nuisance called clothes and the flesh he held beneath the layers. She felt his breath hitch as she found a sensitive spot behind his ear.

Her own breath caught as his hands began their own excavation up her trembling form. Never had she felt such fire or passion for another. A priest could have tried to slaughter the beast she was and she wouldn't have cared. As long as she had Remus joining her in their trip to haunt the Earth, nothing mattered.

Her eyes rolled upward in pleasure as he took over once more, his primal instinct to be dominant now coming to the forefront. He began to kiss the flesh that protected her moaning throat.

Feeling someone so close made her yearn for a life with this man. Her body pleaded for the attention she regularly rejected. Her hands felt along the back of his throat to the curl of hair at the back of his neck. She began to toy with it, enjoying the sensation of something she herself had not dared tried to explore or admire.

Her body arched towards him; his hands held her waist to his. She felt his muscles flex expertly under the tips of her gentle and caressing fingers.

Their moans were soft, awkward, and could hardly be distinguished between them. It didn't matter, though, as their lips found each other again and again, continuing their desire to plug the drain of loneliness.

Minutes later, as if in silent agreement, they reluctantly let go their sweet, touching embrace. Her lips felt soft and sore, and her eyes lazily searched his face. He returned the look, his heart dancing under the tips of her fingers and his breathing coming out in quiet, satisfied gasps. A shared smile tugged at their lips, and they fell into an embrace, she hiding her head under his strong chin and he holding her tightly and protectively.

Hermione felt her tears dissipate along with the insecurity he usually brought to her every time she saw him. As she smelled his scent once again, something deep within her sprung to the surface:

_This is my mate._

And for once, she didn't shun it to the back of her mind.

* * *

After a little persuasion from Remus, Hermione informed Headmistress McGonagall of her new condition. When Hermione confessed her secret, the lady at first looked rather disapprovingly. But the anger and dissatisfaction was diminished when she hugged the crying werewolf tightly and reassured her with kind words.

Amazingly enough, Hermione still had her job. But as a consequence to her admission, she still had to take the long-ago and forgotten Ministry test to ensure they which employee was a werewolf. This, of course, brought her public humiliation once it was discovered that she had been cursed.

She was forced out of stores and libraries because she was a werewolf. Amulets of pure silver were shoved in her way from either the homeless people or young parents 'protecting' their children. Her ego was hurt her ego and her dignity bruised, but she knew she would have to face it. Remus had for most of his life, so if he could do with a warm smile still on his face, so could she!

Even in classes, Hermione was forced to face humiliation. She had once even taking over three hundred points from Ravenclaw House because her students wouldn't stop chanting rather ridiculing songs they had immaturely made up. They had even started making fun of Remus when he entered the room to help Hermione gain control of the class once again. His faced had burned in embarrassment as the students began to question his mating activities with her, if there were any. Though she silently considered his actions sweet, she was forced to fill up Filch and Hagrid's schedule with very punishing detentions.

But, as always, Remus was by her side, standing tall in most of the dark situations she was forced to encounter. One time a wizard recognized her as she was walking down the high street of Hogsmeade, Remus' hand in hers. Unprovoked, the wizard threw his produce at her until Remus publicly hexed him and forced him to apologize to her. People could be so cruel.

But even in the most devastating times came hope. Remus, most of the time, was her hope.

He and Hermione had begun dating. For months they pursued the relationship they knew they were meant to have, regardless of society's unfair appraisals. Every morning Remus had a fresh vase of flowers sitting on her desk, and every night he spent time with her as she tried to develop new potions to help their kind. And, during every transformation, they were together, through the pain and through the long nights that were once considered scary, dark, and lonely.

They were happy with each other, accepting nothing less or more in life than what they had to offer the other. Though considered too meek and unworthy by other's standards, their love alone was enough for them.

And even though most people expected a happy ending filled with roses, Hermione was content, happy even, with her bittersweet ending with Remus – an ending filled with the flowers he picked for her every morning.

And for once, she was happy to be a misplaced one.

* * *

Alright, like I said before, this is the last part that I hope you all liked as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Review please!


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